


but i'm weak, and what's wrong with that?

by Arkham



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exhibitionism, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Public Hand Jobs, Voyeurism, is hockey kink a thing? because eddie has it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-07 23:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkham/pseuds/Arkham
Summary: Eddie’s stomach makes a sickening lurch. Because he’sseenthose hands.Because those hands belong to Richie Tozier—loudmouthed first-line center of the Torrance University men’s hockey team, all-around sarcastic asshole, and the guy Eddie’s had a crush on for the past three years.And Eddie has to see him inclasstomorrow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Richie already talks like a hockey player, so I made him one. That being said, you 100% don't need to know anything about hockey to read this :)

It’s an accident, Eddie swears.

He clicks a link Mike sent him to download his stats textbook and all of a sudden his screen is covered in popups.

He makes a strangled noise and frantically tries to click away, but only succeeds in clicking one of the tabs open. Thank fuck Stan is studying in the library because all of a sudden his laptop starts autoplaying, at full volume, a _very_ explicit home video.

Eddie means to click away. He really does. But his eyes catch on the the man’s sharp hipbones, the angled planes of his stomach, the way his fingers—long and elegant, like a pianist’s—curl around his dick and Jesus, okay, it’s like his computer custom picked this video just for him because all of the blood in Eddie’s body is going straight to his dick.

Stats homework forgotten, he shifts his laptop to the side so he can palm at his dick through his sweatpants, eyes never leaving the man on the screen.

The guy’s face is out of frame, the camera trained below the waist. His dick is _big_; not the biggest Eddie has seen, but pretty damn close. And as if that wasn’t enough to get Eddie the rest of the way revved up, the man shifts back and for a heartbeat, Eddie catches a glance of the bright blue dildo the guy is riding on.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Eddie shoves his hand down his pants and starts jerking himself off in earnest, matching his strokes to the way the man grinds down onto the dildo.

He tries to hold out for Video Guy, but on one stroke the guy moans so prettily and that’s it, that’s all it takes—Eddie tumbles over the edge with a stifled gasp.

It turns out the man doesn’t take too much longer to finish and Eddie watches him cry out as come pulses onto his stomach.

Eddie is about to click away from the video when the guy leans forward to turn the camera off. Eddie doesn’t see his face or anything like that, but the camera shifts just a bit to the left and Eddie sees—

He pauses the video.

He rewinds.

He pauses it again.

On the wall behind the guy’s bed, there are two things—one, a poster of a pair of hockey players in Bruins jerseys sporting the numbers 63 and 37, and two, a purple and white Torrance University men’s hockey pennant.

Eddie’s stomach makes a sickening lurch. Because he’s _seen_ those hands.

Because those hands belong to Richie Tozier—loudmouthed first-line center of the Torrance University men’s hockey team, all-around sarcastic asshole, and the guy Eddie’s had a crush on for the past three years.

And Eddie has to see him in _class_ tomorrow.

///

“Eds! What’s happening, my dude?”

Richie slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie just about melts into the floor. Instead of doing something embarrassing, like leaning into Richie, Eddie shoves his arm away.

“Gross, keep your germs to yourself. Don’t you know it’s flu season? Have you even been vaccinated? You’re basically like a walking talking petri dish of disease right now,” Eddie says. He stalks towards a seat near the front of the class and sets down his bag before sliding into the seat.

Richie collapses into the chair right next to him and gets a look on his face before he licks his palm showily. Eddie is brought viscerally back to the way those fingers curled into a bedsheet.

“I don’t _taste_ like a petri dish,” Richie says contemplatively. He reaches forward as if to bring his hand to Eddie’s mouth. “Here, wanna try?”

“_No fuck you asshole_,” Eddie hisses, smacking his hand away.

Richie laughs, eyelids crinkling at the corners. More students have started to file in and a few give them odd looks but for once, Eddie can’t bring himself to be bothered.

///

Eddie has known Mike since before they were born, technically—their moms attended the same prenatal class back in Derry. After Mike’s parents died, Eddie’s place had become just as much a home for him as his grandfather’s house.

Mike is the brother Eddie never had—the calm to Eddie’s storm, the voice of reason to Eddie’s panic. Eddie talks to Mike about _everything_.

Eddie does not talk to Mike about this.

It’s bad enough that Mike knows about Eddie’s frankly embarrassing crush on the most popular jock at Torrance. The last thing Mike needs to know about is the fact that that jock—who also happens to be Mike’s teammate, his _line_mate—is getting himself off on the internet.

So Eddie lets it stew for a few days.

Then he gets horny again.

And he _knows_ Richie’s username now…

This time, Eddie comes with three fingers in his ass and Richie’s breathy gasps in his ears.

This is going to be a problem.

///

The thing is. _The thing is._

What Richie’s doing could get him in trouble. Like, serious trouble, from the school and shit. So Eddie’s stuck—he could stay quiet and let Richie keep risking being caught or tell Richie what he’d seen and try to convince him into stopping.

When and where did his life go so wrong that Richie fucking Tozier’s sex life is now his problem?

///

Torrance hosts UMass for their first game of the season and Stan drags Eddie to the rink to watch.

For being a math major, and a diminutive one at that, Eddie knows a lot about hockey, all thanks to growing up with Mike. Way more than Stan, so it had been odd that Stan had been the one dragging him here, but Eddie can read Stan like an open book and the way he bats his lashes at Torrance’s captain, Bill Denbrough, whenever he thinks no one’s looking is positively incriminating.

He’d make fun of Stan if it didn’t hit so close to home.

The teams are neck and neck through all three periods and despite himself, Eddie is on the edge of his seat.

When Richie scores the game-winning goal with less than thirty seconds left in regulation, Eddie is the first on his feet to cheer.

///

The decision is made for him on Tuesday.

Stan is in class for the next three hours, so Eddie has the dorm room to himself. He’s bored and done with his homework, so if he checks in on Richie’s site, well, sue him.

Eddie sees Richie has a livestream scheduled in half an hour.

Eddie can’t let Richie do a livestream in half an hour.

A recorded video is one thing, but a livestream? What if the camera moves the wrong way and catches Richie’s face in the shot? What if someone walks in while he’s filming? What if, what if, what if—there are too many what-ifs. Eddie is a good person, goddammit—he’s not letting Richie throw his life away.

Face burning, Eddie exes out of the tab, shoves his feet into his sneakers, and tugs on his windbreaker.

///

The men's hockey house looks different in the light of day. Quaint, almost, or as quaint as a glorified frat house can be.

Before Eddie can talk himself out of it, he knocks on the door. Someone shuffles around inside and Eddie shoves his hands in his jacket pockets while he waits—fall in Maine was settling in fast.

The door swings open and there’s Richie, wearing a ratty old band t-shirt over dark grey sweats that Eddie knows for a fact are featured in several of his videos. “Eduardo!” he beams. “To what do I owe the—”

“Trashmouth69,” Eddie blurts out.

Richie’s jaw goes slack, and Eddie has the distinct pleasure of watching all of the blood drain from Richie’s face.

“I…” Richie starts weakly.

“Shove it, Tozier,” Eddie says, pushing past Richie and into the house. It smells like stale beer and AXE body spray. From the quiet and the fact that Richie had a livestream planned, he assumes everyone else is in class.

The door closes and when Eddie turns to face Richie again, he still looks a bit pale but he’s recovering fast.

“How did you—?” Richie starts.

Eddie interjects again because that’s not a route he wants to go down. “What do you think you’re _doing_?” he starts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “If _I_ found it, do you think scouts won’t? What if the school hears about it? Do you think they’d let you keep your scholarship if they found out you were filming _pornography_ on school property? There are like, literal rules about that, okay? Jesus Christ, Richie.”

“Okay,” Richie mumbles like he hadn’t even thought of the possibility, because of course, he hadn’t. Richie is many things—quick-witted, infuriatingly pretty, good at hockey—but he is not good at thinking things through.

Richie tugs at the hem of his shirt and looks at Eddie with big stupid doe eyes, made larger by those comical glasses. He looks so genuinely remorseful. Eddie hates him.

“If you needed someone to get off in front of you could have asked,” Eddie says, tightening his arms around his chest.

“I— What?” Richie asks faintly. He looks like he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him.

“If—fuck, man, it’d be safer than posting shit on the internet okay? So…if you need someone to watch you get off…” Eddie says. This is a bad idea. This is _such_ a bad idea.

Eddie watches Richie’s throat constrict as he swallows.

“I…Are you fucking with me?” Richie asks suspiciously.

“Yeah, right; I offer to watch all my friends jack off,” Eddie rolls his eyes as Richie starts to scowl. “No, asshole—I’m not fucking with you.”

Richie catches his bottom lip between his teeth and nods once.

There’s a bit of awkward silence.

“Does that, uh. Does that offer start now?” Richie asks hesitantly.

Eddie blinks. He’s really doing this, huh?

“Only if you cancel your livestream,” Eddie says decisively. “And delete your account,” he adds after a pause.

Richie scrambles into action, a flurry of movement again. Eddie follows and is led up the stairs and into Richie’s room. It’s odd to see the entire thing and not just the snatches of the bedspread.

Richie has his laptop open and seems to be busy doing what Eddie told him to, so Eddie takes the time to glance around a bit.

The Bruins poster and Torrance men’s hockey pennant are still on the wall above Richie’s bed. His side of the room is about as messy as Eddie expected it would be: laundry is vaguely piled in the vicinity of a hamper; his desk is covered in stacks of paper; clean clothes appear to have been folded, but never put away; a bag of hockey gear is shoved against the one free wall. There’s a bi pride flag in the pencil holder on Richie’s desk. The other side of the room looks just as cluttered, but it’s a more put together sort of chaos. Richie’s is just, well, chaos.

By the time Eddie returns his gaze to Richie, Richie is looking at him with those doe eyes again.

“How do you wanna…?” Richie asks and Eddie shrugs jerkily.

“Uh, you get in bed I guess and I can sit in the chair? I don’t fucking know, man; you’re the one jerking off,” Eddie says with a bark of a laugh that he knows sounds more shrill than anything else.

“No, yeah, that sounds good,” Richie says. He gets into bed and then just waits, watches carefully as Eddie takes off his windbreaker and folds it over the back of the chair before taking a seat in it.

“Well?” Eddie says. “What are you waiting for, Trashmouth?”

“You’re _sure_ about this?” Richie asks again.

“Yes, Jesus Christ, just fucking start already oh my God,” Eddie says, but there’s a little piece of him that’s thrilled by the way Richie had asked for consent at every step of the way.

“Okay, okay,” Richie mumbles. He takes a breath before tugging his shirt off over his head and Eddie is treated to a closeup view of Richie’s hockey-defined abs. Eddie kind of really wants to lick them.

Richie’s hands drop to his sweats and he hesitates before tugging them down and kicking them off. Richie isn’t wearing any underwear because of course he isn’t and for the first time, Eddie comes face to face with Richie’s dick. It’s just as massive in real life as it is on a computer screen and Eddie’s mouth waters.

There’s a click as Richie dribbles lube from God knows where into his hand and then just like that he’s jerking off. There are a few experimental strokes to get himself warmed up and then he glances at Eddie and the gasp he makes cuts through the heavy silence and goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

Eddie fights to keep his face impassive even as his dick throbs.

If he’d thought watching Richie jerk off on screen was difficult, watching him jerk off _in real life_ without being able to touch himself _or_ Richie is pure fucking torture.

Eddie manages to make it through the whole thing without coming in his pants—which he’s honestly very proud of, thank you very much (though he _had_ come close when Richie had fondled his balls near the end and had punched out a whine that made him sound like he was dying).

It’s not as awkward as Eddie had thought it would be, after, mostly because Richie doesn’t let it be.

Eddie makes it back to his dorm room with just enough time to get himself off furiously before Stan makes it back from class.

///

It becomes a thing.

Richie jerks off.

Eddie watches.

Eddie goes home and jerks off, and pictures Richie’s hand on his dick instead of his own.

Rinse and repeat.

Eddie is thriving. Really.

///

“You’re being weird,” Mike says before taking a massive bite of his meatball sub.

“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird,” Eddie frowns. He pokes his pasta around his tray with his fork.

Mike rolls his eyes. “Dude, I’ve known you for twenty years and I’ve _never_ seen you this picky about Italian food.”

Eddie scowls at his fettuccine alfredo.

They’re both quiet for a few moments as they eat, but it’s a familiar sort of silence.

“Have you ever, like…done the whole friends with benefits thing?” Eddie asks finally.

Mike blinks slowly. He finishes chewing before speaking. “No,” he says finally. “Why, are you finally over your Tozier-shaped crush?” He pauses and then his eyes go wide and he grins. “Are you gonna ask _Tozier_ to be your fuck buddy?”

“What—no! Gross!” Eddie sputters and Mike just laughs, that bastard.

“Cause he’d probably say yes, you know,” Mike says slyly.

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. “That’s not funny,” he mumbles.

“I’m not kidding,” Mike counters, nudging Eddie’s foot gently beneath the table. “He talks about you all the time, dude.”

“He—what?” Eddie blinks.

“All our conversations lately have either been about practice or _you_. When did you guys start spending so much time together anyway?”

“We have a class together,” Eddie says faintly. _Richie talks about him?_

“Right,” Mike replies. He shrugs. “Anyway. Don’t break his heart or whatever. We’re playing Minnesota this weekend.”

“I’m not gonna break his heart, ‘cause I’m not gonna ask _Richie Tozier_ to be my _fuck buddy_,” Eddie hisses.

Mike smiles and takes another bite of his sub.

///

After his conversation with Mike, Eddie starts noticing things he hadn’t before.

Sometimes, after he jerks off, Richie asks Eddie to stick around for a while. To do homework, play video games, whatever. At first, it had been frustrating because that meant he had to leave his own dick unattended to, but Richie beams at him with those big stupid blue eyes and Eddie is helpless.

He doesn’t know how it happened, but somehow he’s started spending more time with Richie than with Stan or even Mike.

For as much as he acts like a fuckboy, being around Richie is so easy. His jokes are lewd at best and downright offensive at worst, but he picks up on what makes Eddie smile through his shrieks of disgust and narrows in on them. And he’s _funny_—like, actually, genuinely _funny_.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that information.

He goes to more hockey games in the next month than he has all last year, and he tells himself it’s because the team is actually good this year and because he’s there to support Mike, but he knows it’s not true.

When Richie roars in celebration after netting a slick bardown through the BU goalie and Eddie feels butterflies in his stomach, Eddie knows.

Something's gotta give.

///

The party is loud and boisterous, already spilling out into the street. Stan is stuck like glue to Eddie’s side. He was the only reason Eddie was out in the first place—Eddie had been on the fence about going out tonight, but then Stan said he was in and, well, that only happened once in a blue moon, so here they were.

Eddie pushes the way through the crowd and makes his way to the kitchen where he snags them a couple of beers.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” a voice booms and goddamn, did Richie have a tracker on him?

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie says, turning to face him. He’s greeted by an arm slung around his shoulder and a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Gross,” Eddie says, scrunching his nose, scrubbing at his cheek, and wiggling away.

“Stan the man,” Richie grins, turning his attention to Stan instead. Stan fixes him with such a scowl that Richie doesn’t even try to come close. Richie shrugs and nudges Eddie. “Bro, I need a beer pong partner and you’re the best there is. I’ll pay you in alcohol.”

It’s true; Eddie is the best there is at beer pong. Well, maybe after Bev. Richie, though, is hopelessly bad.

“Liquor, not beer,” Eddie says finally. “And the good shit, too—not whatever you heathens think passes for vodka.”

“Nothing but the best for you, sweetheart,” Richie drawls.

Eddie’s stomach swoops pleasantly at the pet name and, with Stan in tow, follows Richie deeper into the hockey house.

///

They win.

They win, and Richie picks Eddie up and spins him, squeezing him tight before settling him down.

“You’re a fuckin’ beaut, Eds,” Richie says, beaming down at him. Richie’s breath smells like cheap beer and for a heartbeat, Eddie thinks Richie is going to lean down and kiss him.

Someone grabs Richie’s shoulder and tugs him away, and the moment is gone, but Eddie is left with his heart pounding in his throat.

///

It’s too much. It’s all too much, and Eddie is at the end of his rope. It had been a bad idea from the beginning, and now he’s losing sleep over it because whenever he tries to close his eyes, all he can think about are the little noises Richie makes when he twists his hand just so.

So the next time Richie texts him, Eddie goes so far as to show up at his door before blurting out: “I can’t do this anymore.”

Richie has the good grace to look dumbfounded. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie interjects, blood rushing to his cheeks. He takes a step back. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He turns on his heel and flees.

///

_9:52 PM _

**Richie:** is everything okay?

**Richie:** eds?

**Richie:** fuck, man, tell me what’s wrong so i can fix it

**Richie:** please let me know that you’re okay

_1:31 AM_

**Richie:** i’m sorry

///

Mike corners him in the library about a week after The Incident. “Remember how I told you not to break Tozier’s heart?” he says.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “I told you, I—”

“Eddie. C’mon. I’m not messing around. I don’t know what happened and you clearly don’t want to tell me and that’s fine, but he missed an actual empty net today at practice. An _empty net_.”

Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Mike sighs. “I know Richie isn’t your problem, but he’s kind of mine, and if there’s anything you could say just to…give him closure maybe? I don’t know, but just…think about it, okay?”

Eddie is quiet for a moment before he slumps. “Okay.”

///

Eddie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before knocking on the door.

“It’s open!” a voice calls and Eddie tests the handle, turns it, and lets himself in. Bill is sprawled out on the couch in the living room and he gives Eddie a quick smile.

“Richie’s in his room,” he says knowingly and Eddie feels heat creep up his cheeks.

“Um. Thanks,” Eddie says before fleeing.

Eddie steels himself again before knocking on Richie’s door. There’s no going back now.

Richie’s voice is muffled. “Bill I swear to fucking Christ I would rather rip my own balls off than play Mario Kart with you right now.”

“It’s Eddie,” Eddie says with a wince.

It’s silent for a heartbeat and then there’s some scuffling and Richie is tugging open the door. His hair is even more of a mess than usual and he looks, well, _soft_ in dark grey sweatpants and a Torrance men’s hockey shirt.

“Oh,” Richie says. He nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Eddie replies. “Do you, um, have a minute?”

“Yes, sure, sorry let me just—“ Richie says, motioning for Eddie to come in before shoving some laundry into a hamper and kicking a pair of sneakers under the bed.

Eddie closes the door carefully behind himself.

“So, um,” Richie starts. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he breathes out like it’s all one word. “I shouldn’t have assumed that you were still okay with what we were doing and I should have checked in more often and if I’d known you weren’t having a good time I never would have—“

“Rich,” Eddie says, dropping his gaze to stare at his toes. “If I wasn’t having a good time, I would have stopped you. I was just, uh, more into it than I let on?” He clears his throat. This is happening. “I, um, was. Really into it. Watching. But it was hard after a while to just watch and not touch, so.” Eddie shrugs. “But. Yeah. I didn’t want to make things awkward. Which I’m totally doing right now anyway.”

God this is so embarrassing.

When Eddie finally glances up again, Richie’s eyes are dark. Eddie’s stomach flips.

“You wanted to touch?” Richie says quietly.

“Yeah, Jesus, Rich, you’re fucking hot, okay?” Eddie retorts, cheeks blazing.

“So you’re saying I could have been getting _you_ off this whole time?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. He closes the distance between them, tangles a hand through Richie’s hair, and drags him down into a kiss.

It’s messy from the start and Richie licks into Eddie’s mouth desperately, drawing a whine from deep within Eddie’s chest. Richie’s hands run down Eddie’s sides then toy with the strip of skin just beneath the hem of his shirt.

Eddie breaks the kiss to gasp when Richie’s hands travel back to knead at his ass.

“Is this—” Eddie’s breath hitches as Richie presses a kiss beneath his ear. “Is this happening?”

Richie chuckles, breath hot on Eddie’s neck. “Do you want this to be happening?”

Eddie thinks about it—actually really stops to think about it. It doesn’t take too long.

“_Yes._”

///

Eddie shows up to his lunch date with Mike the next day with two purpling hickeys on his neck and Mike doesn't even bother trying to hide his grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOMETIMES you have to have to write 1.3k of smut in a Starbucks to cope.
> 
> This was already tagged as exhibitionism so. Yeah.

Thanksgiving break is just around the corner and Eddie is _not_ looking forward to spending the long weekend cramped in a house that smells like mothballs with one aunt after another after another asking him how school is going or what he’s planning on doing after graduating or if he has a girlfriend yet.

There are only so many combinations of “fine”, “I don’t know yet”, and “fuck no” he can give before wanting to jump into the quarry and stay there until hypothermia takes him.

To make it worse, Mike is doing Thanksgiving in Florida this year—apparently, his grandfather has extended family there—so he’s not even going to have company on the drive between Castle Rock and Derry.

It’s the night before he has to leave, though, and Torrance is playing Harvard. It’s packed—Torrance men’s hockey is _good_ this year and word travels fast. Torrance isn’t a sports school per se, but New Englanders love their hockey and it’s an easy support for newcomers to get attached to—fast-paced, a little bit violent, a little bit primal.

It’s all amplified tonight. The game is chippy from the start—Harvard rushes the Torrance goalie two minutes into the first period and there’s a good old-fashioned shoving match that ends with two Harvard players and three Torrance players in the penalty box, and it only goes downhill—uphill?—from there.

It’s a fantastic game, gets everyone in the crowd on their feet. Richie gets his first goal ten minutes into the first and his second is a buzzer-beater before the end of the second. Eddie is on the edge of his seat. Richie’s going to get a hat trick tonight. He can _feel_ it.

And then he _does_.

Eddie screams himself hoarse as the crowd of baseball caps are tossed onto the ice and Richie smacks into his linemates with a roar that’s silent beneath the din of the crowd.

They run the rest of the clock out and just like that, they’ve blown out the Crimson 5-0.

///

Eddie slips away from Stan as they head out of the rink and Stan gives him a knowing look before letting him go. So what? Maybe Eddie is predictable. Maybe he’s too pumped up to care. Eddie knows exactly how Richie likes to celebrate a win like this and Eddie _wants_.

He makes his way down to the hallway outside the home locker room and messes around on his phone as he waits. He doesn’t wait long—Richie is one of the first ones out, chatting animatedly with Bill, Mike, and Ben. He catches sight of Eddie and his grin goes sharper. He strides over, long legs making it look easy, curls one hand beneath Eddie’s jaw to tilt his head up and crashes their mouths together. Eddie makes a little noise and curls his fingers into the front of Richie’s shirt.

Eddie hears Bill’s wolf-whistle, Mike’s “gross”, and Ben’s “get it, Tozier!” but they don’t quite register, not when Richie licks teasingly at the seam of his lips.

They break apart but the look in Richie’s eyes makes Eddie’s chest flutter.

“C’mere,” Richie grins and tugs Eddie towards a side hallway that Eddie knows contains meeting rooms and offices.

“Wear protection!” Mike calls and Eddie flips him off.

Richie drags him into the first room that has the door propped open—a meeting room that’s illuminated only by the light from the hallway and the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

Eddie has barely had time to survey the room before Richie’s fingers card through the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck and their mouths crash together. Eddie shivers into the kiss. His hands find purchase on Richie’s waist and he clings as Richie licks into his mouth while walking him back until he’s pressed against the wall with Richie’s thigh between his legs. Eddie makes a high pitched noise into the kiss and rocks forward helplessly.

“You were so fucking— _ah_—so fucking hot out there,” Eddie breathes. Richie kisses him again and again.

“Yeah?” Richie grins, shifting forward into Eddie’s crotch and drawing a moan.

“_Yeah_, Jesus,” Eddie mumbles.

“You can call me Richie.”

“Shut _up_,” Eddie hisses, leaning forward to kiss him again.

Richie grins into the kiss and the angle is off, but Richie shifts and then it’s perfect and _oh_ Eddie is so easy for him.

Richie’s erection is a hard line against Eddie’s thigh and Eddie reaches a hand between them to palm at it.

Richie breaks back with a hiss. “Careful, Eds,” he says breathily. “You really know how to make a guy wanna come in his pants.”

Eddie hums. “I wanna blow you.”

“Jesus.”

“You can call me Eddie.”

Richie barks out a laugh and pulls Eddie forward into another kiss. Eddie has just undone the button on Richie’s pants when they hear voices growing louder.

“Shh, shh,” Richie grins, scratching a hand down Eddie’s side as Eddie muffles a whimper into the curve of Richie’s neck. Eddie nips Richie’s shoulder in retaliation and it’s Richie’s turn to bite back a hiss.

It’s just a handful of guys, joking around about the game and the party they’re headed to later, but they get closer to meeting room door that’s still ajar and Eddie feels Richie tremble. A wicked idea starts to form in Eddie's brain.

“Any one of them could look in here and see you like this,” Eddie breathes into Richie’s neck. Richie makes a little noise and Eddie goes on. “All marked up. A minute away from coming in your pants.”

“Fuck, Eddie.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If one of them saw?” Eddie punctuates the question by tugging down the zipper of Richie’s pants.

Richie doesn’t answer, just rocks forward, looking for friction and finding none.

The voices are right next to the door now and Eddie begins to see their shadows momentarily blotting out the hallway light.

“Quiet, now,” Eddie breathes, finally getting a hand on Richie’s dick and giving it a few experimental strokes.

Richie inhales sharply through his nose and Eddie knows how much he’s holding himself back—he’s always the more vocal of the two of them, spouting out dirty talk that makes even Eddie blush.

Now, though, with a group of strangers just an open door away, Richie is doing everything he can to not cry out. All because of Eddie’s hand on his dick. It’s fucking _hot_ is what it is.

Eddie smears Richie’s precome across his palm and that makes the slide a little bit smoother. Eddie’s hand picks up the pace; he doesn’t dare get on his knees when there are people so close because he _knows_ that’ll make Richie talk, but he can do this, can keep Richie on edge.

They’re right next to the door now, and it’s like they could be in the room with them.

One of the strangers says something and another one laughs and apparently Eddie had been keeping Richie a bit too close to the edge because he pitches forward suddenly and buries his face into Eddie’s neck to hide a gasp as he comes, spilling all over Eddie’s hand.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says faintly. The voices grow quieter by the second.

Richie laughs breathily. “Sorry. Knew you wanted to blow me.”

Eddie unceremoniously wipes come onto Richie’s underwear before tugging them back up. “That was before I knew you’d come like a fucking teenager who just discovered jerking off when you heard people right outside the door.”

“Hey,” Richie protests weakly.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Eddie grins and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth. Eddie moves to lean back, but Richie doesn’t let him and deepens the kiss briefly instead.

“Come back to my room,” Richie says. “I want to take you apart.”

Eddie shivers because _fuck yes_.

“You gonna come in under a minute again?” Eddie asks, because he’s an asshole and Richie makes it so easy.

Richie groans. “You’re never gonna let me live this down.”

“Nope,” Eddie replies, popping the “p”.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Richie says with a long-suffering sigh.

Eddie just grins and shoves Richie backward. “C’mon, asshole. I want you to fuck me before I die of old age."

"Your wish, my darling," Richie says in his stupid British guy voice, "is my command."

**Author's Note:**

> talk with me on tumblr about reddie [@wastingstarlight](http://wastingstarlight.tumblr.com) and hockey [@mayorwagner](http://mayorwagner.tumblr.com). feel free to send me prompts [@wastingstarlight](http://wastingstarlight.tumblr.com)!


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